Countdown to Fates
by Blonde Panther
Summary: Various games, various pairings. Choice/Faith/Family/Birthright/Conquest/Revelation/Fate. Seven fics, each inspired by a single-word prompt that is derived from my largely unspoiled impression of Fates. Updates daily until I can get my hands on the game. FFNet will not let me list all fourteen characters.
1. SethEirika:Choice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem or any of the names and concepts in any of these fics. All belongs to Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.  
 **Characters:** Varies per fic.  
 ** _Author's Notes:_** _I am pretty much eating myself up in excitement for Fates, which releases in Europe in six days. So to keep myself occupied and prevent myself from going completely crazy with enthusiasm, I'm doing a little countdown thing. From today until the release day, I'll be placing one fic a day. All of them will use a different pairing I'm fond of, and be based off of a single-word prompt derived from what I've understood from Fates even through my spoiler goggles.  
_

* * *

 ** _Seth and Eirika:_ _Choice_**

"Good morning, Ephraim." The king of Renais looked up from his breakfast and his papers when his sister joined him at the table. She immediately made a face at the sight of the document in front of him. "You're bringing your work to the breakfast table, now?"

"I've got a lot on my plate," Ephraim nonchalantly responded, wiping his mouth free from crumbs. "And before you start," he interrupted her before she could open her mouth, "The vast majority of it is work I can't push onto you." Eirika had insisted from the beginning that he should let her shoulder some of his workload. And she was right to- as his twin sister, she was the princess of Renais, next in line to the throne should he not produce any heirs of his own, and as much of a symbol of the nation as he was. She was supposed to shoulder some of the work. However, this time, it was different. "There's something else I need you to take a look at and deal with," he said, turning the paper in front of him around and shoving it across the table to Eirika. "Give that a read, would you?"

If Eirika had thought her brother was giving her a particularly outrageous letter from one of their peers to laugh at, or a serious document he needed her opinion on, those thoughts soon vanished along with her appetite. "He can't do this," she said, barely halfway through reading the formal letter, written in a familiar immaculate handwriting. "Can he do this?"

Ephraim sighed, nodding. "He can, it's his good right as the crown prince of Frelia." Her shoulders slumped, her face sinking. "You have time to think on it," he assured her. "He says that he expects our reply in two weeks. Accounting for the time it took that letter to get here and it will take for our reply to get there, that means I need your decision by the end of this week."

"You won't have to wait that long," Eirika said, shoving the letter away from herself and picking up her cup of milk- the only substance she felt she could stomach right now. "I will not marry Innes." She was fond of the Frelian prince, honest. In addition to handsome and intelligent, he was a good man, better than many gave him credit for. But she couldn't imagine herself in his arms as his wife. He was simply not the man she desired.

"Eirika," Ephraim said, his voice interlaced with urgency, "I know that's your gut reaction –it's mine, too- but we have to be practical about this. You rejected Lyon too, and look what happened."

At that, she leapt up from the table. "I did _not_ reject Lyon!" she cried, tears in her eyes. "He never asked!"

"Would you have accepted him if he had?"

That question gave Eirika pause. "T-that was then and this is now," she finally said. If Lyon had asked her to marry him before the War of the Stones, odds were she would have accepted. Before his corruption at the claws of the Demon King, he had been such a sweet boy, devoted to his people and gentle in nature. But that was before she had realized there was a perfect match for her right here in Renais. Even if he didn't think so…

Ephraim stood up, sighing. "Like I said, you have a week to decide. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to, but please consider it. It would do our kingdoms good." Normally, Eirika would tell him that he could marry Tana if he cared so much about that. But now, she was left pondering so deeply that she barely even noticed Ephraim leaving to get to work, her eyes burning a hole into Innes's letter.

No, she finally decided. As good as it would be for Renais and their people, as well as getting any other potential suitors off her back, she couldn't just give up that easily. She needed to let him know about this and get his opinion, effectively giving him another chance to follow her heart. Snatching the letter up to serve as proof should he need that, she barged away from the table without eating.

This early in the morning, the training fields were deserted, as most of the soldiers were eating or tending to their mounts. General Seth found himself as the only man up and about. Not that that was a bad thing, he thought as he drew his blade. He was happy to be alone with his morning drills… and his thoughts.

As he started to run through his usual motions to warm up, he already found his mind drifting. Today would be particularly bad, then. Ever since the War of the Stones, his mind had been consumed not with strategies and formations, or even with patrols and training, but with Princess Eirika. She had always been beautiful, of course. But it had only been during the war that he had seen how resolute and brave she could be when the situation demanded it. He had grown attracted to her then, and finally fallen in love with her.

But it was not to be. He knew that well, perhaps better than anyone else. Though his family history was one of consistent and unparalleled service and loyalty to the kingdom, he was a commoner. A peasant, his hand unsuited for that of a member of Renais's royal family. And even if King Ephraim were to give him a title, elevate him into the nobility..? He was not as educated and knowledgeable on politics as he should be for that. He was famous continent-wide for his prowess in battle, but that was all he knew- swordplay, horsemanship, wartime strategy. He would make a poor lord. No, his duty lay here, on the battlefield, with a sword or a lance in one hand and the reins of his war steed in the other.

And still, he could not shake the idea of having the princess all to himself. To hold her close whenever he wanted, his ring on her hand marking her as his. Even now he thought he heard her voice calling his name.

Wait, he _did_ hear her. She was approaching the battlefield, calling his name a second time. He turned towards her, sheathing his sword as he did so. "Princess Eirika," he said, bowing as she reached him. "What brings you here?"

"We need to talk," she said. "In private."

"These fields will be private for another while," he assured her, now concerned. She looked so serious. "Is something the matter?"

She sighed, nodding. "Yes, something is the matter. Seth, I want your opinion on something." With that, she showed him the document she had been holding in her hands, revealing it to be a letter from… Prince Innes of Frelia, judging from the signature. Seth didn't have to read the letter, as she was swift to explain the problem. "Innes has requested my hand in marriage and I have a week to decide on my answer."

"I see." It had been an expected turn of events, but no less devastating because of it. "If you care for my opinion," he started, choosing his words carefully, "I believe it would be a good marriage for you." It wasn't easy to admit, but he knew it was true.

"I've no love for him," the princess protested. "I'm fond of him, but only as my friend. Not as my husband… Not like-"

"You never might," Seth admitted, interrupting her before she could finish her sentence. "This is true. But consider, Princess, that few royal marriages are anchored in love. Your own father only developed strong feelings towards your mother well after their wedding." He shook his head. "Considering the alternatives, it might be best for you to marry someone you at least have a fondness for. I'm certain that Prince Innes will provide and care for you."

"Not considering _all_ alternatives," she said, catching his eyes with her own. He didn't have to ask what she meant. King Ephraim would not force a marriage with Prince Innes upon his sister- the choice was up to her. If a different man were to make the same request in the coming week, she could accept and King Ephraim would give them his blessing. The affection in her eyes hadn't changed… she was hoping for a proposal from _him._

"We've been over this," Seth urged, putting his hand on her arm to emphasize his words. "You are of royal birth, and I a commoner. We are ill-matched."

"I love you," she said, causing him to quickly glance around to see if they were still alone. "As I will never love him- or any other man. Please, Seth-"

"I feel no love for you," he suddenly said. A blatant lie. Even now, watching her eyes widen in shock and her shoulders fall, his heart tore in two and he wanted nothing more than to apologise, to take back his words and hold her close to him. Still, he continued. "We were close once -inappropriately so- but no more. I swore to you that I would see you only as my queen." He drew his hand back. If she thought she had no chances of having him, she would accept Prince Innes. It would be better for Renais. For her. For them both. "I cannot and will not marry you, my lady. It would be in everyone's best interest for you to accept Prince Innes's offer."

The princess stepped back, tears welling up in her eyes. He couldn't tell if she believed his lie, but she nodded, sadly. "I… I understand. I'm sorry, General Seth." She turned around, looking back one more time as he prepared to resume his training. "Should you change your mind… please let me or Ephraim know before the end of the week. Alright?"

"Of course, my lady." He would not change his mind. It would not be his place, nor his right. As much as it hurt them both, the sooner Eirika married Prince Innes and left Renais, the better it would be for them both. This entire mess had to end.

Ephraim saw little of his sister or his right-hand man over the course of that week, all three of them consumed with work, but whenever he did see them, Eirika seemed consumed with sorrow and Seth, with some sort of dignified frustration. Something was wrong here, and he didn't like it one bit. Still, as he sat hunched over his desk near the end of that week, he heard his sister entering calmly. "Eirika," he said. "What brings you-"

"I will marry Innes." She didn't even give him a chance to finish his question. When he looked at her, he saw her face set with determination, although that might have been in order to deny her own tears. "I… I have no better alternatives. And I would rather have it be Innes than some stranger I do not care for." She swallowed. "Can you… Do you have time to compose a reply to him right now?"

He leaned back, nodding. "Yeah. I'll get right on it." She left, presumably to see to her own duties once more, and Ephraim pulled a fresh piece of paper towards him to start writing his reply.

When he left to get it to a messenger, however, he ran into the red-haired general he knew Eirika to be so infatuated with. "Seth, wait a second," he said. The knight stopped, giving his liege his attention. "Eirika has probably told you about the situation, but I thought I'd mention…" he showed the closed letter. "I'm about to send the message that we're accepting Innes's proposal." Seth showed no emotion, so Ephraim frowned. "Seth… this is your last chance to change your mind. I know and understand your feelings, but you can't seriously-"

"I will repeat it as many times as is necessary, Your Majesty," the knight said, stoic as ever. "It will be in everyone's best interest for Princess Eirika to wed Prince Innes and become queen of Frelia. She has no future with me."

"…fine." Ephraim continued on his way, looking back one last time much like his sister had. "Seth… I respect both your decisions, but I'm afraid we will all regret this in the long run." And with that, he was gone.

Seth had no doubt that he would regret the decision sorely. He could not lie to himself, his lieges, and his subordinates forever. But neither could he marry above his station and bring shame to the royal family, or weaken their military with these inappropriate bonds. She had chosen duty in accepting Prince Innes's request rather than staying unmarried. He would respect that decision, choosing duty as well by staying in service to Renais as a knight rather than as a nobleman.


	2. EliwoodNinian: Faith

_**Eliwood and Ninian: Faith**_

Light and darkness swirled before them, and before she could get her bearings, she landed hard on the cold, tiled floor. Warp magic always made her nauseous, and this time was no exception; she covered her mouth with her hand in case she couldn't keep her bile down, squeezing her eyes shut. The aftermath of the spell soon dissipated, but she was still sick to her stomach. Finally, Ninian looked up at the man who had brought her here, her eyes glinting with rage. "You promised!" she screeched, her voice more animal than human. "You would let them go if I came along!"

"I've no obligation to you, Ninian." When she processed the steely cold in his voice, she gasped with realization. Of course. He'd never intended to let Lord Eliwood or any of the others walk away from the Shrine of Seals. In his determination to get his hands on either her or Nils, he would have said anything to entice her into surrendering herself into his care. And once he had had her, he had disposed of the people who could stop him…

"You… you monster." It was all she had the strength to say before covering her mouth again, bursting into tears.

"I do believe the only monster here is you," he said, his voice cutting deeper than the arrows and spells that had struck her during the battle, mere hours ago. "Now get up." She heard the soft swish of his robes against the tiled floor as he turned around, and looked up to see Dragon's Gate towering above them. "Open the gate, Ninian."

"No."

Nergal rounded on her once more, looking at her in shock at the sheer defiance in her voice. "What was that?"

"I will not," she said, her hands on the ground balled into fists. She lacked the strength to get to her feet and run away, and she knew that even if she had had the strength for it, he would catch her with ease. "I will never open that gate again. Not for you. Not for anyone."

For a moment, Nergal looked as though he would reach out and drag her to her feet himself, but he kept his arms to himself. "…I see. You never did promise that you would put yourself at my disposal, is that it? Only that you would come with me." When he next spoke, his ire was ill-concealed. "But I do not need you to promise or approve, Ninian. You _will_ serve me."

"I will not," she repeated, shivering. Cold sweat ran down her back at the sight of the rage on his face and the realization that if she pushed him too far, he could kill her with little more than a flick of his wrist. But he wouldn't. Deep down, he knew what she knew- with Nils gone and the Scouring having erased dragons from this continent, Ninian was his only remaining chance to open the gate. Death was not a viable threat.

"Heh heh…" She shivered a little harder when he chuckled. "You think that because I need you alive, I cannot make you obey? I have ways, my dear. Limstella!" The Morph appeared seemingly out of nowhere, not speaking as it looked at its master for orders. "Take the girl to her cell. I'm in no rush."

Limstella took her away, locking her away in the same cell she, Nils, and Lord Elbert had occupied so long ago. Ninian didn't doubt that in the days to come, she would be subjected to torture until she complied. But she wouldn't, she thought as she finally stood up, using the wall for support. Giving her power to Nils had drained her, but made him more powerful… and Lord Athos had been there, too. There was a chance… There was the tiniest chance that Lord Eliwood and the others had survived Nergal's magical attack.

She made a fist against the wall, staring at the rock as if it would erode under her gaze. Lord Eliwood would save her. She had to believe that with everything she was. They had undone the seals on the sacred weapons that were capable of killing dragons- a wizard shouldn't be that much more challenging an adversary. He was fine, she told herself, he had survived, he was getting his wounds tended to –right now- and he would set out immediately to claim such a weapon and then use it to save her.

All she had to do was hold out until he got here. He had been strong throughout his father's death and the chaos he had been thrust into following that. Now, it was her turn to be strong. She would resist Nergal.

When Limstella came to fetch her the following morning, it didn't bring her to some sort of torture room as she had expected, but back to the Dragon's Gate, where Nergal was waiting for her with his back turned to her. "Thank you, Limstella. I don't need you here." At those words, the Morph simply left, leaving Ninian standing within arm's reach of the evil wizard. An intrusive thought fought its way into her head: could she fight him? Unbalance and disable him for long enough to escape?

Just as quickly as the thought had intruded on her, however, it vanished. Come off it, she told herself, look at yourself. She was so small, so weak. She had relied on Lord Eliwood's protection throughout their battles; she was unable to fight on her own. Nergal would overpower her with precious little effort…

"I must say, Ninian," the wizard said, not looking at her, "I'm impressed. The last time you were here, you didn't even think to resist me." He finally turned around, stepping closer to her to intimidate her. "But it doesn't matter." One hand came up, and he stroked her face, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her eyes uncannily gently. Where Ninian enjoyed the touch when Lord Eliwood did it, however, now she only shut her eyes and shivered in repulsion. "I'm in no rush. In a few days, you will be broken and you _will_ serve me."

She gave no reply, only shaking her head, causing him to laugh. "Your defiance is as amusing as it is new, Ninian. Must I remind you of what it is I possess of you? So long as your Dragonstone remains in my possession, it is a matter of time before you obey." Her Dragonstone. Ninian's eyes flew open wide; Nergal took it as shock, judging from the smug grin on his own face, but in reality, it was hope. A plan. What Nergal said was true- she could be manipulated through her Dragonstone, given that enough time and power was spent on it. But that Dragonstone was HERS. If she could get her hands on it… If she could steal it back from Nergal… That would be her chance. But it would require a distraction on Nergal's part, and a LOT of quick thinking and reflexes on hers. Would she still know how to use the stone if she did get it? No, there was no time for second-guessing. That stone was her only hope.

The days passed, Morphs feeding Ninian and ensuring she didn't starve herself to death. Nergal used his evil magic to hurt her, to try and manipulate her thoughts, but she fought back- with Lord Eliwood not around to hate her for what she was, the woman opposing Nergal could be her dragonic self, rather than a fragile little girl. She had utmost faith in Lord Eliwood. He would come. All she had to do was believe that and resist. That was all…

When Limstella tossed her in front of Nergal and the Gate before leaving for the umpteenth time, she realized the wizard had an oblong, ice blue gemstone in his hand, radiating a power identical to her own. Her eyes narrowed. _This was it._ If she could distract him now, she could escape. No Morph could overpower a dragon. Nergal approached her. "This ends today, Ninian." He showed her the stone. "You will open the Dragon's Gate. I will summon a dragon. I will slay it for its Quintessence… and then I will become the master of this world." He chuckled. "I don't know where this defiance of yours comes from, but it will serve you no further purpose."

"I refuse to help you," Ninian said, closely following the motions of the hand in which he held her Dragonstone as well as his focus. "That Gate has caused enough horror and I will never touch it again."

"I did not ask for your consent, Ninian." He smiled, clutching the stone. "Given enough power, I do not need it. You didn't want to kill Eliwood's father either, did you?" She stepped back, reeling as if he had hit her. Lord Elbert's death… she hated to think of it, of how powerless she had been to stop it. "But you did it anyway, because I willed it." Now, his hand unfolded, the stone laying on it. She felt his dark power slowly permeating it, invading her thoughts. He sought to once more make her his puppet. "This will be no different. Worry not-" he interrupted himself laughing as Ninian grabbed her head, trying desperately to fight him off, "-I will make sure to kill him slowly, so you can consciously tell him farewell before he breathes his last!"

" _No!"_

Ninian screamed at the top of her lungs, making an immense physical and mental effort to stay in control and throw herself at him, her fingers flexing around her Dragonstone. "I will not! You… can't…" She clutched the stone hard, ice driving out darkness and filling her veins. "Make me!"

It was like an explosion of power, all contained within her body. Ice filled her, flowed through her, forced her being to shed its tiny human shell and assume the form in which she had spent so many centuries of her life. But her plan backfired. Elibe had changed since the last time she had wandered it with scales and fur. The air was different. It did not resonate with her power. And she was no longer accustomed to all this power at her disposal. Her consciousness retracted, her thoughts slipping from her and instinct taking over completely.

She looked down at the human in front of her, registering him as a threat to her. He spoke to her. She could barely process most of his words, her ability to understand his language greatly hampered by her madness. Before she could inhale to freeze him, however, she recognized one word that gave her pause. _Eliwood._

Eliwood… Eliwood!

She turned this way and that, trashing her long neck around –miraculously not hitting her head on any walls or ceilings- at the name. Eliwood! She… Eliwood would come and save her… No… no… Not in this state. She couldn't stay here… she had to run. She had power, she could escape.

She had to find Eliwood!

She turned around, crashing away from the gate. An ocean separated the island from the continent where she could smell his scent, but that was inconsequential for a creature as tall as the ocean was deep. Where she could not walk, she swam, and once on the mainland, she ran. Ice dragons could not fly, but they could run.

Finally, she reached a cave with a camp of humans huddled around it, and came to a halt. There he was… His bright red hair matted with blood, his fine blue tunic torn and stained with dirt… She opened her maw to call his name, but all that came out was a roar that sent him and the humans with him into a panic. His blue eyes looked up at her with more fear than anything else… what was going on?

 _Oh god,_ she realized when she saw the enormous longsword in his hand. _Her form. He didn't recognize her in this-_

Pain.

Blackness.

For the first time in her life, Ninian was not comfortable with the cold. Her power flowed out of her like blood, forcing her back into her smaller form. With it, her mind came back to her fully. She was dying… but it hadn't been Nergal who had killed her. Rather… the man who rushed over to her, his knees landing on the ground next to her hard and who scooped her up into his arms, desperately trying to stem the bleeding.

It was… comfy. Safe. Familiar. And despite it all, she felt satisfied. Nergal hadn't broken her. She hadn't obeyed him after all… she'd escaped all on her own. If only she'd remembered to leave that stupid form behind and show herself in a form he would have recognized…

He begged her not to go, to not leave him behind. But there was nothing to be done about it… she was dying. Already, she found it hard to breathe. She nested in his arms. Gathered the last of her strength to tell him- she was so happy he was unhurt. She wanted to tell him even more; that she had known he had survived Nergal's attack, how strong he was, that she loved him, that none of this was his fault… but her body failed her. He had to use that strength now to defeat Nergal and protect his home world…

As she felt the last of her strength, her final breath, her last heartbeat, leaving her, she knew he would succeed. Lord Eliwood was stronger than Nergal… She didn't have to see that to believe it.


	3. MarthShiida: Family

_**Marth and Shiida: Family**_

So the rumours were true, then. Marth stopped a few paces away from the dais leading up to the throne of Altea, currently occupied by a dark-robed creature that radiated power. He could feel his body trembling with rage as his fingers clutched his blade so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn't give the beast time to taunt him. Instead, he struck back the hood he had used to conceal his identity from the soldiers inside –the split second they needed to realise they were fighting the man Dorua needed dead had saved his life many times- and pointed his enchanted blade at it. "Step away from the throne," he demanded, his voice stable but dripping with ire.

"None defy a Mage-Dragon and live to speak of it, you witless boy," the dragon spat. "Your mother Liza tried." He grinned his fangs bare at the once-exiled prince. "Would you like to know what I did with her?"

"I said..." Marth growled through clenched teeth, not giving the dragon any indication he had heard his words. " _Get your scaly arse off of my father's throne!_ " shouting, he launched himself at the beast. Before he could reach it, it had already assumed its true form- that of a hideous reptilian beast with a long neck, inhaling deeply for what would undoubtedly be a very painful breath attack. Fortunately, Marth was faster, bringing his weapon down on its shimmering scales.

Having known the rumours of a Manakete inhabiting Castle Altea now, he had taken care –and used channels made available by Hardin and Nyna- to secure himself a Wyrmslayer. It was much heavier than his rapier and its design was wildly different, forcing him to change his fencing style to accommodate it- not an easy task for someone who had practiced his particular style for as long as he could remember. Still, it sliced through the Manakete's scales and flesh like a warm knife sliced through butter. Marth's swing ended prematurely when the blade caught on bone, but when he jerked it back, it came out as easily as it had gone in.

The dragon roared in pain, unleashing its partially-prepared noxious breath upon the prince. For a moment, he thought he would pass out or choke on the fumes, but forced himself to shake it off, turning on the ball of his foot to create momentum he used to strike the beast a second time. This time, he struck home, finding the monster's heart and bisecting it with no more effort than he would need to cut fruit. He looked on as it fell, forcing his face to remain emotionless and not show the horror at how easy that had been. If this was a normal Wyrmslayer... well, as 'normal' as a blade specifically enchanted to slay dragons could be... how immensely powerful would Falchion be?!

Still, he sheathed the blade, looking over his shoulder at the wizard who had followed him into the throne room with a tome of wind magic in one hand and a healing staff in the other, expecting much more trouble than Marth had had. "Merric," he told him, "Inform all fighting troops that the enemy commander has fallen. I want no more of this bloodshed in my halls."

"Yes, sire." The mage turned and ran back out of the throne room, leaving Marth to run a hand over the throne he'd just freed up. It was... so strange to think neither of his parents would ever sit on it again. ...that it was his throne now. Trembling again, but this time with something else than rage, he turned around, sitting down in it and continuing to run his hands over the armrests in disbelief. Was it really this easy to reinstate himself as Altea's ruler? To reclaim what belonged to his family? Kill a dragon, sit down on the throne... and start calling himself prince regnant?

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, seeing his other dear friend jog into the throne room with a bloodied lance still in her hand. He so hated seeing her with bloodied weaponry or armour, immediately getting to his feet and hurrying towards her. They met in the middle of the throne room, Shiida dropping her lance and Marth wrapping his arms tightly around her to hold her closely against him. "You did it," she said, admiration in her voice. Marth couldn't find the words to answer her. ...he HAD done it.

He didn't have much time to celebrate or contemplate his victory. Malledus and Lady Nyna joined them, informing him his people were waiting for him. He looked back once to the empty throne, before setting himself to work. Although his knowledge of the castle's armoury and coffers had always been limited because of his young age, he helped Jagen and Abel take inventory of what had been stolen, gauged the damage done to the castle's structure alongside Cain and Draug, and sent Gordin and Ogma into the city to inspect the state of the common folk.

But before he did any of that, he took his fellow Altean nobleman Merric with him to the nearest balcony to greet and assure the droves of people who had gathered at the castle gates when they had heard their crown prince had returned. At that moment, he forced himself to be just that- a prince and a general, and nothing else.

It wasn't until late in the evening, when he had assigned rooms and patrols to his soldiers, that he had time to himself. The real work would start after the war, of course. The main reason he'd set himself to evaluating the state of the castle had been to distract himself from the cold harsh truth- he was alone now.

He had meant to pace the hallways like he had often done when he couldn't sleep as a child, but instead of wandering that wing of the castle aimlessly, his legs walked him straight to the throne room. He sighed, his breath producing a little visible puff in the air. The island could get cold at night, and the damage to the castle walls did its isolation no good. He would have to have that fixed as soon as possible... but as soon as the thought came up, it trailed off, leaving his head empty.

Simply putting his robe a little more tightly around him, he walked into the large chamber, slowly but surely striding towards the throne at the far end. Every step echoed in his ears, despite being muffled by the carpet, and the walk there seemed to take an eternity. He didn't even know why he was here. What was it he was after? Reassurance from an empty piece of furniture? He was not naive enough to believe that it would impart him some piece of his father's strength or wisdom. Once, he might have believed that... but he had to do this on his own. Using his own strength.

He didn't realise he was crying until he felt a tear falling onto his hand. That realisation alone was enough to set him off... before he knew it, he was on his knees in front of the throne, his face buried in the seat as he cried in silence. It was too much for him. As different as he and his father had been, Marth had always held immense amounts of respect for the man. Word of his death had crushed him, and having to flee the country immediately afterwards had not helped him process his grief. By the time he'd left Talys, he had thought it well handled, but this battle... seeing his castle again, and hearing from the Manakete that his mother was gone now, too...

He had no reason to disbelieve the beast's words. And with Elice nowhere to be found in the castle either... Well, it wasn't a stretch to believe he was the last surviving member of Anri's bloodline. Of course, that was why Elice had insisted on staying behind. He had to live, so that Falchion would have an heir in this time and be able to be passed on to later generations... but that was not what Marth cared about, not then and not now. He had so, so hoped that he would be able to embrace his mother or his sister. That he would be able to come home to his family... but he was alone now. Orphaned and robbed of his dear sister by a dragon who wouldn't stay down.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, even after his tears dried and he mostly lay with his head resting on his arms on the throne because he couldn't bring up the strength or the motivation to get up and return to his bedroom. If his knees hadn't started to hurt, he may have been asleep by the time he heard one of the large double doors opening and footsteps entering the room.

Not wanting the soldiers who depended on him for guidance and leadership to see him in his moment of weakness, he scrambled to get to his feet, only to falter when he recognised the female voice. "It's alright, Marth. It's just me." More slowly and in control of his motions, he stood straight and turned around, seeing Shiida approach him.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, Shiida?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"I'll be fine," she said. "I'm more concerned about you... Are you alright?"

Marth hesitated, but finally decided that he didn't want her to know his weakness either. Not her, of all people- she had so many men admiring her, and what woman would deign to take the hand of a weak coward when she had other options? So he nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be? We've driven Dorua out of Altea and reclaimed the castle of my youth."

"Please don't lie to me, Marth." Her words cut him like a sword, but more so the concerned, genuine tone of her voice made him wish he hadn't. "I know you better than you would think... you wouldn't be here of all places instead of in your bed at this hour if nothing were wrong." She shook her head. "It's your family, isn't it?"

He tried to save face, "W-why would you think that-" but she shaking of his voice and his legs gave him away. Without warning, Shiida closed the distance between them and captured him in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Marth," she whispered, only audible because of their close proximity to each other. "I'm so sorry this had to happen to you..." For a second, the surprise and the sorrow numbed him, but he recovered, returning her embrace with a desperate grip. As if to assure himself that she wouldn't leave him as well.

"I'm the last one," he said, so quietly he could have sworn it had only been a thought. "I wanted to come home and free my mother and sister from their imprisonment and know that my cowardice hadn't stolen my family from me..."

"You are no coward," Shiida assured him. "King Cornelius, Queen Liza, and Princess Elice were taken from you by Dorua, through no fault of yours. But you're not alone, okay?" Her grip loosened so she could look up at him, putting her hand on his cheek. "We can't replace House Lowell, but we can be your family."

Those words jolted him back to reality. "Y-you?"

"Yes," she said, nodding and smiling at him. "Me... and Ogma, Lord Merric, Sirs Abel and Cain... all of us. Do you think we rallied behind you only because you are Falchion's heir and the only one to stand up against Dorua?" He didn't remind her that he'd had little choice in the matter and that a good portion of their army did, in fact, have that as the only reason to follow him. He knew that about the people she'd named, she'd been right. And a good number of others besides them... "We're here because we care about you, Marth. And believe me when I say we will not leave your side, or allow ourselves to be forced to, for as long as you need us." She blushed a little, "It will take much more than Dorua can throw at us to make me leave, at any rate."

"Shiida... I-"

"Don't say it yet," she said, putting her head on his chest. "I want to hear them when you've led us to victory and liberated the continent... we'll have time then."

"Thank you," he said, meaning the words with everything he had. "Thank you so much for everything, Shiida..." The royal family of Talys had graciously given him asylum when he'd had to flee Altea, Shiida going so far as to risk her own life to help him in his crusade against Medeus. And now she took that help above and beyond her given tasks on a battlefield... She could never know just how incredibly grateful he was for that.

They stood together for a good few minutes before a practical thought intruded on her. "We should probably get to bed," she mused, but made no motions to break their embrace.

"We should," he agreed, but much like her, he felt no desire to break away. "Shiida, can I... can I hold you for just a little while longer?"

"Of course..."

With her permission, he pulled her down with him as he sat down on the throne –his throne-, before pulling her even closer to him if that had been possible. They would spend a good portion of the night like that- not even talking, only holding each other tight as he found comfort in her embrace.

Tomorrow, he had to be a prince and a general again. But for now, in the arms of the person most dear to him, he could be an orphan crying over the loss of his parents and his sister.

* * *

 _ **Intrusive Author's notes:**_ _Wow, these fics are turning out way more depressing than I had initially intended them to be. Now I don't think sad notes necessarily make fics bad, but I do hope you'll bear with me; if all goes according to plan, most of the last four should be a lot less depressing._


	4. IkeSoren: Birthright

_**Preliminary Author's Notes:**_ _This is probably the weakest fic out of the lot, just as a fair warning. This is the first time I've written Ike/Soren, because for all my love of the pairing, if you've only played RD you don't have much to go off of and I'm not confident in my ability to portray them. Still, 'Birthright' was a tricky prompt to work with and there has to be a first time for everything. Sorry, Ike and Soren fans!_

* * *

 ** _Ike and Soren: Birthright_**

Soren was ill at ease in this room. He was always ill at ease when Ike wasn't around, but even so, this time was worse. He'd been summoned by Queen Micaiah of Daein, for reasons she hadn't disclosed to him. But she had urged him to come alone, without Ike. Still wondering what this was about, and growing tired of the silver-haired maiden's silence, he sighed in frustration. "Are you going to tell me what this is about, or not?" he asked. "If you want to hire the Mercenaries, you'll have to talk to Boyd. Ike and I are no longer in charge of them."

He spoke the truth- he and Ike had left the Greil Mercenaries to find their own way. They had intended to leave Tellius altogether... but Ike had kept postponing it, finding it difficult to really say farewell to the continent that had shaped his life in so many ways. And just as Ike had decided he was ready, Micaiah's summons had come. Soren had never been fond of the girl, but out of a grudging respect for her role in putting Ashera to rest, and because Ike asked him to, he had decided to go.

"I know that," Micaiah said. "I didn't invite you to hire you... There is something I want to talk to you about. Something important... as one Branded to another." Soren made a face. Anything prefaced with 'one Branded to another', anything remotely having to do with his mixed birth, bade ill. "I received a letter from Lady Almedha not too long ago." She presented it to him, holding it out as if she expected him to take it. "It concerns you... I think you need to see it for yourself."

Soren waited. Was this some sort of joke? He knew who Almedha was, of course. She was the Dragon Laguz who had spoken those strange words to him at the end of the war. Pelleas's mother. The wife of the dead King Ashnard, who had caused so much trouble for him and Ike years ago. But she'd gone back to Goldoa with her brother, Prince Kurthnaga. What could she possibly have written that concerned him? He only half cared. Still, Micaiah didn't seem about to draw the letter back, so he sighed and took it from her. Still only half interested, he opened it and started to read it.

It was a long letter, full of formalities and hedging, as if Almedha had been afraid to get to the point. Still, Soren was very good at distilling relevant information from endless rivers of words, and fortunately so. It didn't take him long to get the gist of what Almedha had wanted to tell Micaiah and dismissively toss the letter back onto the table between them. However, it did take a while before either of them spoke again. "So?" he asked, shrugging. "What of it?"

If Micaiah was startled at his indifference, she hid it well. "I would hate to hold on to something that rightfully belongs to you. If you want, I can abdicate to you right now."

"Don't." Soren stood up. "Even if I were interested in your throne, I would have to discuss it with Ike first and weigh my options and the consequences. I take it that was all you wanted to talk about?"

Micaiah followed his example, nodding. "Yes," she said. "I… thought you should know. I'm sorry if I upset you." Soren scoffed. "Sothe will see you out. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Soren."

"Don't mention it. In fact, just stop talking to me altogether."

Fortunately, his and Ike's campsite wasn't far from Nevassa, so by the time night fell, he'd returned to the person he considered to be home. "Hey," the blue-haired swordsman greeted him, tending to the fire. "What'd Micaiah want?" Soren shrugged. He wasn't sure he was comfortable discussing it with Ike- his thoughts had been a little jumbled all the time. "I hope you weren't overly nasty to her," he said, laughing. "She's a nice girl."

"I guess. Do you have food?" Ike only gestured his head towards a boar that lay a few yards away. Looked like they had food. Normally, Soren would be worried about waste- boards were huge, and he wasn't a big eater. But he knew well that Ike had an almost unhealthy appetite and could keep pace with most Laguz when it came to eating. He didn't doubt every last ounce of that boar would be gone by the end of the night.

And gone it was. It wasn't until much later, when they were curled up together in their bedroll, when Ike brought up Micaiah again. "You've been quiet all night," he said, face buried in Soren's hair. "Like, more than usual. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Soren assured him. "Just go to sleep." Ike was not satisfied with that answer. The next thing Soren knew was that he was on his back, desperately trying to get Ike's hands off of him. He was extremely ticklish and Ike knew this- and was more than happy to take advantage of it when he wanted something that Soren didn't give him. They fought for what felt like hours, until Soren finally choked out: "Stop! STOP! Alright, I'll tell you! I give up!" and Ike abruptly stopped, giving him a chance to breathe. "You are… impossible…" Soren said, panting, before sitting up and collecting his thoughts.

Ike looked at him expectantly, so Soren cut straight to the point. "Micaiah got a letter from Almedha."

"The dragon?" Ike asked, "Kurth's sister? Isn't she the one who suddenly wanted your name and acted all weird around you?"

"That one," Soren confirmed. "Apparently she's been doing some soul searching, especially since Pelleas is dead and she couldn't bring him with her to Goldoa as she had wanted." He shook his head. "Long story short, after the war the reason she approached me was because she felt a sort of 'kinship' with me. She contacted Micaiah to find out if there were any records of her son in Daein, and there were. Turns out her hunch and the records match up."

Ike perked at that. "You're saying..?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Apparently I'm the Mad King's son." Saying it out loud felt strange. Surreal. But the strangest part was that he was so confident in saying it. His first response to the news hadn't been disbelief. Maybe there was some merit to the theory that deep down, people knew who they shared genetics with even if they didn't realise it. The subconscious was a wonderful thing.

"Ah-huh…" Ike looked mostly concerned. "You okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Ashnard wasn't exactly… eh, sane by the time we got to him." The Radiant Hero scratched behind his head. "Not to mention I'm the one who cut him down. So, yeah. That doesn't…"

"Come on, Ike," Soren scoffed. "Ashnard was a dangerous madman who needed to be stopped. Just because he apparently made me doesn't change that. He kind of lost all right to my sentimentality when he kicked me out and condemned me to a life I never asked for. Hell, he lost any right to my feelings when he decided to have me at all. What kind of idiot willingly brings a half-breed into a land where they're more hated than anywhere else on the continent anyway."

"Don't be like that," Ike said, putting an arm around him. "You know he probably-"

"If you're going to say 'loved you' or anything of that sort, I'm going to stop this conversation here and go to sleep, because you know that's bullshit." He sighed. "Anyway… that's what Micaiah wanted to talk about. She thinks that because the Mad King and his dragon mistress made me, I should take the throne of Daein. Apparently I'm entitled to it."

"Uhhh. I don't do inheritance law." Ike leaned back. "So… what are you going to do?"

Soren didn't answer right away. "I'm not sure. I told her she could keep it, I don't care, and I don't. What do I care for the people of Daein? They'd throw me off a cliff first chance they get."

"You know not everyone would kill every Branded on sight-"

"Ashnard was not a loveable man, Ike. I'm pretty sure people would rather see all remnants of him disappear. Let them believe said remnant was Pelleas, and they'll be happy. I'd rather not have a load of assassins sent after me because of a man I barely met." He leaned back. "They don't care about me and I don't care about them. If I were to take the throne it would be so I wouldn't have to worry about money problems anymore." Looking at Ike, he gave a rare smile. "But we no longer have a mercenary band to provide for, and just the two of us don't need that much. Besides…" he took the other's hand, "You know how it works, right? Kings get married and have kids of their own. If I were to take that throne and become king of Daein, I couldn't be with you anymore."

"Well, technically you could." Ike grinned. "You're a Branded, and apparently from the Dragon tribe at that. You basically live forever so you wouldn't need to have heirs. I could be your royal bodyguard-slash-secret-lover."

Soren couldn't help it- the mental image sent him into an extremely rare laughing fit. "Come now, Ike," he said as he finally stopped. "I would much rather travel the world with you like we agreed we would. You're more important than some lizard girl with poor judgment, a madman who was more interested in power than in kids, and some faceless nameless people who'd rather see me dead if they knew."

"That tongue of yours never dulls, does it?" Ike asked, but pulled Soren close. "Thanks, though. That means a lot. Speaking of lizards though, what about Lady Almedha?"

"What _about_ Almedha?"

"Well, do you want to go see her before we leave Tellius? I can't make an argument about Ashnard giving two fucks, but surely if she's been thinking about you so much she decided to tell Micaiah about her suspicions she loved you and would like to see you."

Soren made a face. "Maybe. But friendly reminder that she thought some Spirit Charming kid was her son. They weren't even almost related in any way, and it's not like she never saw me. I don't think she cared enough to realise who I was before her precious boy vanished from her life. Think of me as a backup for her misguided motherly feelings." He buried his face in Ike's chest. "Kind of wish she wouldn't have bothered. Micaiah, too. I would've been fine with never having known this. If anything it's just more of an incentive to get the hell off of this continent."

Ike petted his hair, smiling. "Well, if it were up to me I'd love to make a stop in Goldoa and see her, just so I can thank her for putting you into this world. Say what you want about Ashnard but at least he did one good thing in his life, right?"

Soren didn't have the heart to shut that line of thinking down. He supposed in a weird, twisted way, Ike had a point. He wouldn't forgive Almedha for allowing Ashnard to throw him out for whatever reason he had, and he wouldn't believe she really cared considering her track record. And he certainly wouldn't feel sympathy for the Mad King. But he wondered… if he had been allowed to grow up in the castle, or any part of his life leading up to his meeting with Ike had gone differently… would he still have met Ike at all? Would he be where he was today?

No, probably not, he told himself. He'd probably just be miserable and know there was something important missing from his life, but not be able to talk to anyone about it because his father was a power-hungry fool and his mother a simple-minded lizard. Soren wouldn't have minded not existing. But now that he did exist anyway, he supposed he hadn't ended up all that badly. "At least I don't take after either of them," he mused out loud.

Ike burst out laughing. "Can you imagine? Mad King Soren, using the power of a complete and total lack of empathy to erase all bullshit and inefficiency from the world!"

"Don't give me ideas," Soren said, a grin finding its way to his face. Ike always knew the dumbest and most endearing things to say about a situation. "But anyway. You asked what I was going to do now." He wrapped a strand of hair around his finger. "You get a say in this, of course, but if it's all the same to you, I just want to tell Micaiah to stick her throne up her ass, leave Almedha and Goldoa for what they are, and get on with our lives. This doesn't change who I am or what I want."

Ike only smiled at him, nodding. "Noted and respected. We'll pack up tomorrow and get going. There should be ships leaving port soon, anyway."

For all his messing around, he did understand Soren's feelings. After a life of hardship, two wars, and more judgment than Ike would care to ever shoulder, he wasn't a great visionary with illusions of changing the world for the better with the power of a king. Being King of Daein would just make him miserable, being forced to care for people who –as he put it- would throw him off a cliff at the first opportunity. Soren was right. He was always right.

So Ike pulled Soren close to him again and laid down, looking up at the stars as his prince fell asleep on his chest. The mage only needed one kingdom to govern, and that kingdom was Ike. And he'd always had that, not by birth but by non-violent and incredibly sour conquest. Ike nuzzled Soren's hair as he, too, fell asleep.

Birthrights were overrated.


	5. ChromRobin: Conquest

**_Chrom and Robin: Conquest_**

"...you'll also be happy to know that Miriel, Ladies Maribelle and Lissa, and Sumia all have fresh staves on hand. In particular, Miriel and Lady Lissa have long-range ones to make up for their relative lack of mobility."

"Good," Chrom said, nodding. Normally, he would only half-listen to Frederick's meticulous and overly detailed reports on the status of the camp, but today was different. "I still wonder if _four_ healers isn't overdoing it, but we mustn't forget who we're up against." He turned to Robin, who was bent over a map. "I take it Lissa and Maribelle will cover the main forces while Sumia provides staff support for our flying flanking force?"

For the first time, Frederick made a face. "...please never let Cynthia hear you called them that." At those words, Chrom burst out laughing. He hadn't even thought about it, but it was true- the heroics-obsessed Pegasus Knight would catch on to the alliteration and claim it, never ceasing to call the squad that.

Robin let out a chuckle as well, but quickly turned back to business. "Yes. If we're going to take the battle to Walhart, we need all the support for our main troops we can get. Ideally we'd take one more, but Libra hasn't recovered from his injuries yet, I -need- Laurent and his horse in the east, and I honestly don't trust Ricken with anything other than a wind tome." She straightened herself out a little, resting the quill she'd been using to make changes to her planned formation. She tapped it on the wooden table as if impatient.

"We'll be fine, Robin." Chrom smiled at her. "This isn't our first battle. And with you in charge of our tactics, how could we not be fine?"

"It's no excuse to get lax," she said, looking up at him with a death glare. "'We'll be fine' is a fine way to get everyone killed."

"But overthinking and overworking yourself is a fine way to get yourself killed," Chrom said, walking over and gently taking the quill from her. "We have people set up to deal with Walhart's fliers, fast cavalry, and heavy cavalry," he added, pointing to the formations on the map, "and Gaius and Lon'qu will be taking out his archery so the fliers can do their job and provide support where needed without needing to worry about being shot out of the skies."

Robin raised her thumb to her mouth, biting the nail in her usual bad habit. "I know, I know," she said. "We should have everything covered. But Walhart's tactician is nothing to sniff at either... I'm afraid he will have a backup plan or a trap laid out for us." She looked up at him. "Considering we need you to go in and take on Walhart... if something happens to you up there," she said, tapping a spot on one side of the map much harder than was necessary, "While I'm all the way down here being the mage for Frederick's group," she tapped the other side of the map, "There will be nothing I can do to help you!"

"Then here's what we'll do," Chrom said, still smiling. Turning the quill in his hand so he could write, he made a few small additions to the formation. "I'll take Morgan with me. He takes after you- should anything unexpected happen while we're out there, he can change the plan on the fly. And he's a mage, so should Walhart or his tactician decide to unleash magical Armageddon on me, he can deal with that too." He then put the quill down and took Robin's hands in his so she couldn't pick it up. She was still looking at the map, but finally sighed.

"Fine. I concede defeat. Just make sure to look out for each other, alright? I won't be any more forgiving if anything happens to him on your watch than I will be the other way around."

"Done." He turned to Frederick, who was still in the strategy tent with them. "Frederick, I'd speak with Robin on private matters before we set out. Will you go and make sure everyone is ready to depart, as well as inform Morgan of this last-minute change in his position?" Frederick nodded, bowed, and left the tent, politely ensuring the flap fell closed so they would be alone.

He was barely gone before Chrom scooped Robin into his arms to kiss her. She jolted, startled at his sudden boldness, but let him. "Don't look so worried," he told her when they broke apart. "I promise I'll be careful. Both with myself and with Morgan." He knew why she was concerned; Walhart was not a foe to take lightly. He had crushed Basilio with a single blow, even with Flavia there to keep an eye on him. In truth, Chrom would rather not have dragged the boy with him to what could very well be the chopping block. Morgan was a great tactician, of course, his brilliance possibly even exceeding Robin's. To make matters even better, he'd inherited both Chrom's gift for swordplay and Robin's affinity for magic. Honestly, when it came to battle, perhaps Chrom trusted Morgan more to take care of himself than even Lucina.

But for all his skill and talent and brilliance, Morgan was a boy no older than fifteen. Somewhere, it felt wrong to drag him into this. If something went wrong up there, he'd rather take the consequences alone than with that precious, amnesiac young boy. Even if Morgan didn't remember him yet, Chrom felt obligated to watch over his son and keep him safe. Marching into Walhart's axe with him went against every protective instinct he had. "It's the only real option we have," Robin agreed, voicing his thoughts. "Just… promise me you won't be rash. You can be so reckless in battle…"

"Not when I have our boy with me, Robin." He held her close to him, smiling into her hair. "I promise you that. Don't worry about us. You have your own role in the battle to come and I need you to focus on that. 't Wouldn't do for me to return victorious and find you're the one who got hurt because you were preoccupied."

"Alright. I promise." They let go of each other again and left the tent, Chrom drawing Falchion and Robin whipping out one of her tomes. Her interest in Dark Magic was mildly disconcerting but the affinity made sense, if King Validar had spoken truly. Besides, on the whole Chrom was grateful for it- that long-range tome had saved his life from across a battlefield more than once. And he was sure that wouldn't stop anytime soon.

Morgan didn't use any sort of Dark Magic, though. Instead, he slung enormous fireballs across the battlefield like it was nothing, incinerating heavily armoured foes before they could even reach Chrom. He stuck close, as per his mother's orders, and scanned the battlefield around them like a hawk while Chrom covered him- a tactic he and Robin frequently used, and that he found was every bit as easy to employ with Morgan instead. Sometimes, he wondered if the boy had inherited anything from him other than his hair and his talent with a sword.

He had no idea how long the battle had already taken when he finally found himself standing in front of Walhart. He watched as the Conqueror's enormous stallion strode towards them, sheathed Falchion and drew his rapier, instead. Morgan was already looking him over for weak spots in his armour that they could take advantage of. "So," Walhart said, "The Ylissean commander leads by example, then. Misguided though you are, I can respect that."

"Cut the crap," Chrom interrupted. "I don't have time for drawn-out speeches. This conquest of yours ends here." Suddenly, a flume of fire sprang to life beside him, searing towards Walhart. His horse stepped out of the way effortlessly, but Chrom soon realized that wounding their adversary had not been Morgan's goal.

"Dad," he said, leaning towards him, "We may have a problem. I can't spot any weaknesses in his armour or that of his horse. Your rapier- it'll be worthless." That was a problem. When it came to raw strength, Chrom knew well that Walhart was not someone he could defeat. Fortunately, Morgan already had a plan. "If I can hit him with a spell, I could hurt him. But he'll need to be distracted first. Can you keep his attention on you?"

"That shouldn't be hard." Walhart was already fixated on him anyway, on account of being the enemy general. "Your conquest ends here, Walhart. It's that simple." With those words, he launched himself at the Conqueror, exchanging blows between Falchion and his strange axe.

Damn… Even from a few glancing blows, Chrom could tell Walhart was completely out of his league. Falchion rebounded from every blow. Was he to give up already? Shame his ancestors' famed blade? No, he told himself, he was too proud for that. He couldn't give in until Morgan got his magic in! He didn't have to win, he just had to hold out! To his horror, Walhart had none of his inner turmoil, instead taunting him again. "You would use the sword to end my conquest? By killing me to prove yourself the stronger?" He chuckled, lashing out hard enough that Chrom had to step back for his own safety. "Yet you claim to be better than me, somehow. How does that make you any different from me?" Chrom's step faltered. He… had a point. "You lack my power, but we are not so different otherwise."

The Exalt wished he had something to say to that, but he had to concentrate on fending off Walhart's blows, and his words hit home hard. To his surprise, it was another voice that piped up next to him. "That's _enough,_ you oversized angry lobster!" A small fireball flew by, creating distance between the two duelists and giving Chrom a chance to see where the voice came from. It was Morgan- one arm outstretched after casting his spell, his tome clutched against him hard enough he feared the book's spine would break. He looked furious. "If all you have to spew is nonsense, then either shut up or let me burn that vicious tongue off of you!"

"Ylisse's history of warfare and conquest is well-known," Walhart said, sticking another dagger into Chrom's heart. He did not need to be reminded of his father's crimes. "You cannot possibly deny that you are similar to me."

"My father is _nothing like that!_ " Morgan remained furious, but didn't make any attempts to cast another spell. "The only reason we're here is because _you_ took the fight to Ylisse! If you'd kept your red-armoured butt on this continent, we wouldn't have had to come here and put a stop to you in order to protect our people!"

Chrom could only watch, stupefied. He'd never seen the boy really angry before, but right now he was positively _livid._ Even Robin's ire didn't look this terrifying. He was brought back to reality when he felt pressure falling from his sword- Walhart had, for a split second, let up on pushing his axe against the blade. _Morgan had changed plans and distracted him for Chrom._ He immediately took advantage of that, pushing the weapon away and lashing out, connecting Falchion's edge with Walhart's armour.

The Conqueror reeled, more in surprise than anything else, and that was when Morgan cast his most powerful fire spell, a fiery explosion engulfing Walhart and sending him fleeing into his palace. "Get back here, you coward!" Chrom called, ready to give chase until he felt Morgan's hand on his shoulder.

"Wait, dad. That's what he wants. We don't know how many soldiers he has inside."

"I'm not letting him escape after what he said!"

"I'm not suggesting we do," Morgan said, "But he can't get out of there without having to cut by us. We'll help the others clean up, and _then_ go in when we have backup."

It was as if he was talking to Robin, especially with Morgan looking at him seriously. "Dad, trust me. He won't get away." Suddenly, a faint smile found its way to the boy's face. "In Lucina's future, Walhart killed Khan Basilio… But in mine," he added, genuine pride in his eyes, "You defeated Walhart. That's all I remember for sure. You'll beat him now, too. But you won't if you go in alone."

"Right." He looked at the gate, but turned around. "I trust you, Morgan. Let's go find your mother and see where we're most needed."

The boy –and later, his mother who praised him for his insight- was right. Conquering the Conqueror could wait. After all, his closeness with his allies and the fact that he cared enough about them to physically support them when they needed it were what made him different from the oversized, angry lobster.

"Where did you even GET that?"

"I play a lot of association games."


	6. RoyLilina: Revelation

**_Roy and Lilina: Revelation_**

Roy felt his blade biting deep into flesh, but it wouldn't go any further, so instead, he tore it out with all his might. His enemy fell over, clutching his side from whence his blood flowed freely, and Roy ducked as he turned around. An arrow whizzed over his head, explaining the danger he had sensed, and he leapt up, closing in on the archer who had fired it.

Thank god he had inherited his mother's sixth sense, he thought for the umpteenth time that battle. It had already saved him so many times throughout the war. Whether magic, arrows, ballistae, or traps, he could sense them coming and react appropriately before it was too late. It was not a common power in humans; according to his father, his mother had possessed it and passed it down to him. That was good enough for him. Of course, for all his enemies knew, he just had _really_ good reflexes and was unreasonably lucky.

One good blow to the head took out the archer, and when he sensed nothing else coming, he exhaled deeply and stood straight, trying to relax and return his breathing and heartrate to normal. How did people do this with only five senses? Seeing no enemies in his immediate surroundings, he lifted his bloodied sword a little to inspect its state. He made a face. Three, four more blows at most, and it would smash apart. That was the downside to a good, sharp blade; they weren't very durable. "Better switch before it catches me off-guard," he muttered to himself, placing it back into one of the two sheaths around his waist and drawing his backup sword, which was not only clean but also in considerably better condition.

He'd barely glanced over the backup weapon when he heard a shout not far away. His head snapped up, in the direction of the sound, where he saw a green-haired sniper under assault from no less than three enemy axe-wielders. "Wolt!" He started running. "Hold on, I'm coming!" He wasted no time reaching his friend and leaping in front of him, giving him time to catch his breath while his blade cut down the first of the three men. The sharp TWANG of a bowstring behind him told him Wolt didn't want to wait, backing him up right away. It didn't take them long to take care of the other two brigands, so Roy turned to his friend. "You alright?" he asked, a little out of breath- not so much from the fight, but from the panic- "How the heck did that happen?"

"They caught me off-guard," Wolt said, sitting down to catch his breath. "I was busy backing up Sirs Alen and Lance, but you know how it goes with horses and foot soldiers… They got carried away doing their thing, I got carried away doing my thing, and we kind of got split up. I was trying to get back to Merlinus, but then they cornered me. And well, now I'm here."

Roy shook his head. "Wolt, you're one of our best when it comes to sniping, but you can be completely hopeless sometimes."

"You're one to speak." Suddenly, Wolt hesitated, looking at Roy intently. "You're bleeding, Lord Roy!"

"Bleeding?"

"Yeah- your head!"

Roy brought a hand up to his head, feeling the back. Shit. Wolt was right. The back of his head was wet and warm, and when he drew his hand back and looked at it, blood clung to his fingers. He made a face -it was sticky and gross, it was _different_ when it was his own blood- and wiped it on his cape. "Best find a healer then," he said, "Before I start to lose more than blood."

"Consciousness would be a bad thing to lose," Wolt agreed.

"My life, too. Come on, if Lilina HAS kept her post she shouldn't be far from here."

Lilina, unlike Wolt, had kept to the position she'd been given during the strategy meeting, casting fireballs and lightning strikes down upon anything that came too close to her or the Ositian Knights who guarded her. She was so busy that she didn't see them approaching, and Roy smiled at the sight of her. Lilina had grown up wonderfully well from their childhood years, slowly but visibly turning from a cute little girl into a beautiful woman. He envied her for her rapid development –he was doomed to forever look much younger than he was and it seemed like that was already starting- but if he had to be honest- she was a pleasant sight.

He waited until she sighed, taking it as a sign she was done for the moment, and walked up to her. "Hey, Lilli. How are things up here?"

She turned around, "Decent. We've almost secured these forts-" apparently seeing the blood clinging to Roy's head, her smile dropped from her face and she kneeled down, snatching the healing staff at her feet from the ground. "What happened to you?" she asked, grabbing one of his shoulders and shoving him into a sitting position. It never failed to make him grin- she was a mage and a girl, but there was no denying that Lilina was Lord Hector's daughter. If she told you to sit down so she could take care of your wounds, you sat down, whether you liked it or not.

She gently touched her hand to the wound. "I've seen worse, thank god… Nothing I can't fix, just give me a minute." Roy shut his eyes and had meant to lean back, smiling and relaxing, but he felt her pluck at his headband and his eyes flew open.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he asked, alarmed.

"Well, I need to see what I'm doing," Lilina said. "Your headband is in the way."

To the mage's surprise, Roy reached up with two hands, batted hers away from the cloth, and grabbed hold of it with both hands as if it were a lifeline. "Can't you heal through it? It's magic, right? Immaterial and ethereal and whatnot?"

Lilina and Wolt exchanged confused looks. "Roy," Lilina then urged, "I'm not asking you to take off your pants. I need to see what I'm doing, and it's in the way. Please."

"No!" He started to stand up, stopped by Wolt. "I'll just take care of it myself, I can't-"

"You are leaking blood from a hole in your head, Roy!" Lilina was terrifying when she was genuinely angry. "Sit down and let me take care of it!" With those words she reached out, snatching up his headband and pulling it away from him in one quick, strong motion.

This sent Roy into a blind panic, and he threw his hands up to cover his forehead in the headband's place, but judging from the looks on their faces, it was already too late. They'd seen the intricate marking on his forehead. "Lord Roy?" Wolt asked, "What is that?"

"I… I can explain…" he said, shivering. They looked more confused than anything, so they didn't know what it meant. His father had been right when he said few people if any knew about his kind. Still, his knees shook and he wished Lilina would heal his wound faster so he could run away. Once finished with his head, Lilina handed the headband back and he wasted no time replacing it and getting away from his friends.

It wasn't until after the battle that he would see them again. He'd found a quiet place not far from camp to sit down and clean the blood off of him as well as he could, as far away from others so he could safely expose the marking. When had he started to feel naked without it, he wondered? He was a little embarrassed of the sheer fear that had raged through him when his friends had seen his marking.

But that embarrassment vanished, giving way to panic, when he heard Lilina's voice behind him. "Roy? Are you alright?" She sat down next to him, grabbing his arm so he couldn't run away as easily as he had last time. "You were acting so strange. Have you been eating and sleeping enough?"

She was concerned for him because of his panic? That was certainly not the first question Roy had expected. "You're not concerned about the mark?" he asked, after looking around to assure they were alone, and pointing at it.

Lilina only smiled. "It's certainly an unusual birthmark," she said, "But hardly anything to get upset over. I'm sorry Wolt and I reacted like we did, but you were so panicky we didn't know what to do with ourselves."

"Yeah, me either," he said under his breath, sighing. Could he tell her, he wondered? If he wanted to stay friends with her, she obviously deserved the truth. And she was old and wise enough that she could handle the knowledge… besides, according to his father Lord Hector had known as well, and he'd always been kind to Roy, so maybe..? "I have a confession to make, Lilina."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It's… about this mark. The reason I cover it up and why I panicked so hard when you exposed it." He shuffled a little uncomfortably, Lilina nodding and watching him intently. "Do you know who the Branded are?"

"No, not really." She tilted her head and glanced to a side, a telltale sign she was digging in her memory. "I might've heard the term before, but I don't remember where or in what context. At least, I assume you don't mean branded cattle."

"I most certainly do not," he said, smiling involuntarily. "Branded is a collective term for the hybrid children of a human and a dragon." There, he'd said it. Now that he'd started, though, he found it hard to stop. "I mean it's obviously hard, but Sophia proves it's not impossible. Apparently there were a lot of us before the Scouring."

"Us?" Lilina repeated, catching on to the slip of his tongue, "Do you mean you're-"

"I am. Branded take their name from the fact that at a certain point in their life they develop a marking somewhere on their bodies. As you put it, it's certainly an unusual birthmark. Mine kicked in when I was ten years old." He pointed at his forehead. "You're looking at it. Father knew about it, explained it to me, and told me to keep it hidden. Humans are… not ready to have us in their midst. If Lycia learns that one of their future rulers is a Branded, I won't survive to adulthood."

"I see…" She raised one hand. "Can I touch it?"

"Go ahead. It's not sensitive or anything." She came closer, gently touching her fingers to the discoloured skin. "I only cover it up to keep it hidden. It… doesn't do anything special, it just shows that I'm not like you and Wolt."

"Not like me and Wolt how?" Lilina asked, softly tracing the lines of his Brand. He closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. She hadn't completely flipped out and told him to leave her alone, but he could tell from her face and her touch that she was trying to comprehend it. To be fair, it wasn't everyday that her childhood friend told her he was part dragon.

He shrugged. "Human, I guess. You and Wolt are human. I'm not. Can't really call myself one or the other. I'm something that's awkwardly in between."

"That is a load of nonsense," she said. She sat back down opposite him, taking his hand to draw his attention. "I don't see any claws, fangs, or tail on you. You speak human language, lead a human army, live in human culture. There's nothing different about you, you just have a birthmark on your forehead."

"I also won't age like you two," he reminded her. "Dragons live for ages on end, and I may have inherited that from my mother." He gestured towards his legs. "I suspect that's why I'm still so short."

"That doesn't matter!" Lilina said. "I understand why you want to keep it hidden –like you said, people can be idiots- but you are no less human than any of us."

"Oww!" She'd flicked his nose, something she'd often done when they'd been kids. It was how she expressed displeasure with him. To his surprise, she got on her knees to press a kiss to his forehead where the marking was. "L-Lilli?"

"You're my friend," she said. "I love you, Roy, and some birthmark on your face won't change that. I wish you'd told me sooner."

"You… don't mind?" He asked. "That I'm part dragon?"

"I don't so much mind as I mind that you're afraid that I mind." She grinned at the look on his face. Damnable mages and their language art. "I actually think it's kind of nice. You wear the mark well."

"Lilli…"

"Now," she said, grabbing the washcloth and wringing it out, "Turn around so I can clean your head. You missed several spots."

He obeyed, still stunned. She had taken it exceptionally well. He didn't doubt that tonight in her tent she would take the time to let it properly sink in, but unlike what he had expected, her initial response had been acceptance and not rage. What was more, it felt great to have it off his chest, to have someone he could share his secret with.

Maybe he could tell Wolt, too. But that would wait until after he'd been fully cleaned up.


	7. LaurentLucina: Fate

_**Laurent and Lucina: Fate**_

That… had been a battle, alright. Laurent sighed deeply as he swung his leg over the saddle, dismounting his black gelding. Prince Morgan had put an end to General Yen'fay and ended the battle, following which the majority of the army had left the volcano to make camp. They would need rest before moving to take on the Conqueror himself. In the absence of Lord Chrom and Lady Robin, as well as Sir Frederick who had stayed for their protection, Laurent took charge.

Ordering injuries inventoried and treated and the camp made, he inspected his weapons for wear. Hmmm. Judging from how the past five battles had gone and calculating the average intensity of use they had faced per battle, if nothing out of the ordinary happened they would last for another one by a slight margin. He wasn't injured, and a quick inspection of Hephaestus revealed the horse was fine, too. They could both do with a washing, though, what with having just come out of a volcano. "I guess we know what we're doing this evening, Hephaestus," he said, patting the beast on its neck as he led it away.

Hephaestus was a sturdy, big horse and his body had a lot of nooks and crannies that filth and soot managed to find their way into. Laurent had learnt this the hard way ever since he had acquired the beast, but he didn't mind taking his time to wash it. As much as he enjoyed helping the others, sometimes their company got to be a bit… much. Especially Owain and Cynthia with their enthusiastic games. Every second he spent cleaning gunk off of his steed's legs or working his hardest to make his white markings shine, was a second he had entirely to himself with his thoughts.

When he had come to the past in pursuit of Lucina, he had certainly not expected to get caught up in a war with Valm. Still, he supposed it was for the better. Even in this era, there was little information to be found about the resurrection ritual for the Fell Dragon- on Ylisse. In Valm, there might have been more of an opportunity to find relevant information… although, he bitterly thought, being constantly on the move from the Conqueror's forces made it hard to find and read anything. How was a scholar supposed to get anything done like this?

At least he could still make himself useful, he told himself. He was a knight of sorts too, and with Prince Morgan back in their company he had his job- guard him at all times in battle. They got on decently well, and he admired his lord's brilliance when it came to strategy. Lucina had often remarked how great a team they were. Praise from Lucina always came as a pleasant surprise- she preferred to run things smoothly in silence, so he knew that when she praised him or expressed joy at something, she genuinely meant it. But he didn't enjoy all this bloodshed, one bit. He would much rather sit in a quiet library to work on some thesis or other all day. And his mother had expressed the same- then again, his father had expressed distaste for all this warfare too, and this while Sir Frederick was one of Ylisse's finest.

Even if you were good at fighting, one battle after the other would really start wearing you down after a while, he supposed. They were all good people, even if some were more readily capable of violence than others. He could write an entire thesis on the Shepherds and their dynamics if he wanted to, especially those who had come from the future with him and Lucina. He knew them well, and in social situations, his skills of observation were unmatched even by his mother.

There were not, however, when he was focused half on his thoughts and half on his horse. He was caught completely off guard when someone slid two gloves hands over his eyes. "So this is where you went!" a familiar, sweet voice said in his ear, "Guess who?"

"It's quite unlike you to play silly games right after a battle, Lucina," he said, turning around to face her and to force her to remove her hands. "Is the post-battle council over?"

"Yes," she said, although she seemed to hesitate. "We'll take the battle to Walhart next, but Mother said we need to rest, first. Sir Frederick asked me to find you to let you know you don't have watch tonight." Laurent nodded, acknowledging the fact. He'd been on watch almost every other night since they had first reached Valm, so a night off was a pleasant change of pace. He made a note to thank his father for the word he had undoubtedly put in. "Your entire family has a habit of working yourselves to the bone, to the point where it's not healthy for yourself, huh?" This was true.

To Laurent's surprise, Lucina grabbed a brush and started helping him out. "It's sad, though… Yen'fay and his reasons." So she told him as they worked on Hephaestus's tail and mane. Apparently, Walhart's men had threatened to kill Yen'fay's sister, Princess Say'ri, if he didn't join forces with the Conqueror. He'd been a wanted general not only for his power over Chon'sin and its armies, but also for his own immense skill with a sword. Honestly, when he'd heard they would be going up against him next, he'd been concerned. Fortunately, the Ylissean forces had plenty of incredible warriors as well… and it was quite hard to put a sword to someone who slung magic at you from far away.

Say'ri had known nothing of it all, and Yen'fay had had no idea that she had been taken into the protection of the Shepherds. By the time he'd found out she was safe, he had already been in too deep… "We were going to discuss our next course of action when that toad of a strategist of Walhart's showed up and decided to shove this all down our throats… poor Say'ri is completely out of sorts."

"She would be. Imagine the same would happen with you and Morgan…"

"I know." She paused, finally sighing and dropping the brush. Instead, she leaned both arms on Hephaestus's back, resting her face against them and sighing. He looked at her with pity. She'd been here, fighting, two years ago. She had entered this era fighting, and she'd had little of a break even in those two years between wars. "Can we just sic Walhart and King Validar onto each other?" she asked, "Let them kill each other for a while so we can catch a damn break?"

"Easy there, Lucina," Laurent said, hoping to lighten her mood, "Your mother wouldn't like to hear you'd copied your father's language."

"But that's just _it_ , Laurent!" she suddenly screamed, startling the horse. "My mother –my real mother, the one from our timeline- is dead! And so is my father!" She made a fist, but seemed to realise in time she wasn't leaning on a wall so she didn't slam it. "First my aunt went… then Basilio… then Father and Mother, and then everyone else! I… I came to the past in order to change that bleak future… and now… now…" she bit her lip to keep from crying, so Laurent dropped his own brush to walk over to her and comfort her. Putting his arms around her, he pulled her into a sitting position on the ground. "Khan Flavia just returned," she explained between sobs. "She said… she said Khan Basilio is dead."

That hit home- Khan Basilio had been akin to a legend in his own right. Not to mention a staunch ally to Exalt Chrom and extremely good at keeping camp morale high. Losing him… was a tremendous loss. But for Lucina, it was even worse. "I tried to stop him!" she cried, "I warned him that Walhart would kill him…" She burst into tears, unable to stop from crying for a few minutes. Laurent knew that at this point she didn't need reassurance, just someone to hold her and to listen to her, and gave her just that.

Finally, she gained her breath for long enough to talk. "I… I've already failed twice, Laurent. Father… Father will be next…"

"You don't know that, Lucina…"

"Don't you see?!" She looked at him as if he were mad. "I thought I could change things! I thought I could save Aunt Emmeryn!"

"And you did," Laurent reminded her. "The news of the assassination attempt reached the village I resided in. I immediately knew that it was you who had stepped in to foil it."

"Much good that it did us, she just met her end after a different turn of events!"

"We all die eventually-"

"Spare me that crap!" Tears were streaming down her face. She truly, genuinely believed that her father and this world were doomed. "A-after Aunt Emmeryn, now it's Khan Basilio… What good is my knowledge of the future if I can't change the situation? Khan Basilio went to fight Walhart all the same! He wouldn't listen to me!" She buried her face in her hands. "I should have stopped him…"

"There was no stopping Khan Basilio once he had his mind set on something," Laurent said. "None of this is your fault… you told them what you know, and they chose to not take that knowledge and do something with it. That is their mistake, not yours."

"I couldn't save Aunt Emmeryn or Khan Basilio… so how can I save Father? Especially when I don't even know how he dies exactly? All I know is that he was betrayed by his dearest friend!"

"Don't tell Exalt Chrom if you think he might not listen," Laurent advised her. "Tell his closest friends. Tell Lady Robin and my father everything you know. Rumours, facts, gut feelings. They will be able to work with it. It's not you against the world, you know. You don't have to save him alone."

"Maybe you're right… Right." Drying her tears, Lucina got up. "I'll go see if Sir Frederick is available. Thank you, Laurent." With that, she took off, leaving Laurent to finish cleaning his steed.

He didn't see her much until after they had defeated the Conqueror and found themselves thrown into another series of battles in a desperate bid to stop King Validar, having stolen the Fire Emblem, from resurrecting the Fell Dragon. Why had Laurent not thought of the Awakening ritual?! All his research, for nothing!

It was all he could think about when he stared up at the enormous form of the monster that had destroyed his world. This time, everyone had made it out of the Dragon's Table alive, so that was an improvement… but five years. Five damn years down the drain and he still hadn't been able to prevent the beast's resurrection. Now he understood Lucina's frustration.

Speaking of Lucina… was she alright? She and her parents had been near the centre of the Table, while Laurent had been securing the exit… he'd lost sight of her. "You don't think…" Morgan started next to him, but he trailed off and didn't finish his sentence. Laurent kept his gaze fixed on the entrance. If she had lived, she would come from there… Ah!

"Laurent!" He heard her voice before he saw her approach, but leapt off his horse and ran towards her when she finally showed up. She met him halfway, throwing her arms around him and crushing him in an ecstatic hug. "I did it! Or- well, Mother did it!"

"Did what?" Laurent asked, incredulous. "The Fell Dragon is here! The end is upon us again!"

"No it's not! You were right!" She let go of him, grabbing his hand and turning around to focus his attention on the people who had followed her. Laurent's eyes widened. He needed his wife's support to walk, clutching a wound in his chest… but Exalt Chrom was undeniably, very much _alive_ when he should have died according to their future. Now understanding Lucina's excitement, he turned to her. "We changed fate!" she said, and he nodded.

"No, Lucina, YOU changed Lord Chrom's fate. And Khan Basilio survived, too, because of what you told him. I'm truly sorry about your aunt…" For a moment, he allowed his face to fall, but soon smiled at her again, "But a success rate of roughly 67% is an acceptable passing grade. Now, then…" he struck one arm around her waist, looking up at the Fell Dragon. "What say you we make it a success rate of 75% by joining the other Shepherds and telling that dragon where to stick his reign of destruction."

"Yes," Lucina said, grinning confidently. "By all means." Now that she knew fate did not in fact dictate who lived and died, but THEY did, somehow the Fell Dragon seemed less frightening. They had the Fire Emblem, they had the rightful wielder of Falchion, and they had their brilliant tactician. This time, things would be different. Lucina didn't care if she would have to sacrifice herself to save her father…

He was instrumental to saving the world, and if his fate was to die in battle with the Fell Dragon, then she would challenge that fate.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_** _As indicated by the reason this is late, Fates has now been released in Europe, and this settles my countdown. Now to get through the story ASAP so I can get to writing fics about those characters._


End file.
